My Abyss

There are many things beyond one's comprehension that frazzle one's grasp on logic's cradle. One which - of turbulent throes - lacking in quantifying rationale is why, despite fraternal cracks and stitchless seams, my hand remains on the clutch.

I don't believe I'm terribly important to you.
For if I were, you would not have chosen to hurt me repeatedly.

I don't believe I'm anything more than a comfort threshold.
For happy indulgences are not with me.

I don't believe you treasured whatever transient moments shared between.
For they were never encapsulated and frozen in time.

Yet,

Without belief, I turned to hope.
When that was shattered, I picked up a shard and kept it in my pocket.
I see your smile in the glimmer of that fragment.
The entrapment of my self-indulgence within stupidity.
A willing prey.
A bumbling fool.
Mich.